


not a promise

by Thorinsmut



Series: Free Orcs AU [4]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU: Erebor never fell, Age Difference, Canon Divergence, Complete, First Meeting, Happy Ending, M/M, Nonbinary Dwarves, Oral Sex, Pining, Smut, Waiting, Young Love, the fell winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Erebor never fell, and Bofur met Bilbo when he was much younger - during the fell winter when white wolves swept down from the north to terrorize the Shire?</p><p>Part of a series but intended to stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the fell winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!WARNING!!!  
>  for brief underage this first chapter  
> (it goes nowhere but I always prefer to warn)

The Fell Winter, they were calling it.

It started early, and _cold_ , and the Dwarves under their mountains might not have noticed it much at all except for higher food prices if there hadn't been a call for aid from the Hobbits of the Shire.

Bofur and his cousin Bifur had answered, along with others – Bifur's sometimes-lover Lari and his warrior friends included. Bifur and Bofur weren't warriors _particularly_ , but they knew one end of a blade from the other and they _liked_ the little Hobbit folk. They passed through now and then, and Bifur's toys always went over well with the fauntlings.

The Dwarves of the Blue Mountains were not the only ones to answer the Shire's call. There were Rangers, too, and the wanderer Gandalf who brought in food for the Hobbits, who had lost so much of their harvest to the early winter.

It was whispered, too, that the attacks would have been _far_ worse if the free Orcs of the north were not helping from their base in Gundabad.

Bofur and a handful of other Dwarves were staying in the Great Smials, while others stayed in Brandy Hall and other places of the Shire – ready to charge out at a moment's notice to drive off the white wolves who had come sweeping down from the north with the cold.

It felt good to be underground – even if it did not quite feel as good as being under stone – and Bofur, used to life on the road selling toys and visiting family between Erebor and the Blue Mountains, was very happy in the Great Smials.

Even carefully rationed, Hobbits had wonderful food, and their _ale_ was marvelous.

The winter was finally breaking, and Bofur sat back and _enjoyed_ the ales that kept coming to him in the Dwarves' final night in the Great Smials.

Bofur had taken a fair amount of teasing over little Bilbo Baggins' puppy crush – sweet little honey-haired lad who was enamored of Bofur's stories. He always made sure to sit close to Bofur, fetching anything he thought Bofur might need – more food, more ale, more pipeweed – and pressed him for stories of travel that he soaked up wide-eyed.

“I want to go on adventures too.” He said, over and over, and Bofur would laugh and ruffle his curls.

“They're not so fun as they seem, lad.” He'd tried to explain, but Bilbo had stars shining in his big gray-blue eyes and would not be dissuaded.

Bofur took a fair amount of teasing from the other Dwarves about little Bilbo, but he was just a lad who liked stories – and Bofur talked too much.

The winter was finally breaking, the rivers melting in floods so there was no way for the white wolves to make their way down from the north anymore, and the Dwarves would be leaving in the morning. The Hobbits were safe now, and the Rangers were better suited for hunting down the last of the wolves.

Bofur relaxed and enjoyed the food and ale – lots of ale – that Bilbo kept bringing him. There was an air of celebration, and the adult Hobbits turned an indulgently blind eye toward their tweens sneaking a bit of ale here or there themselves.

Bilbo laughed and danced with his cousins, all of them a little dizzy with ale, his eyes always traveling back to Bofur and running to bring him another ale whenever he ran out.

Bilbo came to rest against Bofur's side, warm and snuggly, when he got tired of dancing – and Bofur patted the lad's head.

“I want you to take me on adventures with you.” Bilbo told him, very seriously.

“You belong here, in the Shire with your family.” Bofur told him.

“No I don't!” Bilbo said, offended, “Some Hobbits go on adventures! My mother did, and Uncle Isengar went to _sea_ when he wasn't _so_ much older than me!”

“Well, maybe, but...” Bofur started, but there was suddenly a wide-eyed little Hobbit lad straddling his lap, and arms around his neck, and soft lips pressing against his with a whisper of 'take me'.

And Bofur had had _far_ too much ale because for half a moment he was kissing back before his hands closed on tiny hips – the lad was as skinny as a sprout – and flung him _out_ of his lap.

Bofur wiped the flavor of him off his mouth with the back of his hand – sweet honey cakes and ale – while Bilbo stumbled back and sat down hard, his eyes filling with tears as he looked up at Bofur. Oh, he'd maneuvered Bofur into a quiet corner where it hadn't been noticed, clever little thing, but that probably just made it _worse_.

“You're a _child_.” Bofur said, to himself as much as anything, _blood and shale_ he shouldn't be needing reminding of _that._

He'd had _far_ too much ale.

“You... don't _like_ me.” Bilbo sniffled, bottom lip trembling as he curled his knees up to his chest where he sat, a big tear rolling down his cheek.

“I like you well enough, lad, but you're a _child_.” Bofur repeated, desperately. Crying Hobbits were just _unfair_ , it was breaking his heart to watch.

“I am _not_.” Bilbo protested, his voice cracking on it did not do much for his argument, “I'm twenty one! Some of the Men, the Rangers, are younger than that!”

“You're _not_ a Man, you're a Hobbit.” Bofur reminded, “You're a _child,_ and I'm over a hundred years old!”

“I don't _care_.” Bilbo argued back, his bottom lip trembling, “I want adventures and I want _you_.”

“Well you _should_ care, and I do.” Bofur told him, “Maybe when you're of age, but I can't...”

“But twelve years is _forever_.” Bilbo wailed, and maybe the poor lad had had too much ale too, but Bofur _could not_ deal with this anymore. He stood, glad he had _lots_ of practice walking while drunk, and pulled Bilbo to his feet too. Somehow he managed to get Bilbo not to cling to him, and set out into the heart of the celebration, tugging the sniffling lad along with him.

“Belladonna!” he called for the lad's mother, and was quickly pointed in her direction. He awkwardly shoved Bilbo at her when he found her, and Bilbo fell into her arms to sob like his gentle little heart was breaking.

“Bilbo? Bilbo, sweetheart, what's wrong?” She asked, petting his hair and looking up at Bofur with a confused question in her eyes.

“He wants adventures, and I can't...” Bofur said.

“Bofur won't take me.” Bilbo sobbed against his mother's neck, and the relatives Belladonna had been talking with excused themselves to give them privacy.

“Oh, poor baby...” Belladonna crooned, rocking Bilbo back and forth, “You'll have your adventures someday.”

“I'm sorry.” Bofur said, backing up. He should never have let Bilbo pin his hopes on him. It had all seemed so _innocent_ , until it wasn't. Belladonna waved him off, more focused on her son than on him.

“Bilbo, how _much_ ale have you had?” she asked, brushing his hair back to place a hand on his flushed forehead, “Who gave you so much? Adalgrim? I'll skin that boy alive, he's old enough to know better!”

“I'll just... be going...” Bofur said awkwardly, wanting more than anything to retreat back into the safety of his group of Dwarves. He'd enjoyed mingling with the Hobbits more than most, but it wasn't _fun_ anymore.

At least they'd be leaving in the morning, so the awkwardness would not have to last – not that the Great Smials weren't big enough you could avoid someone if you wanted to.

“Wait Bofur!” Bilbo had pulled out of his mother's arms to catch Bofur's hand before he could turn away. “Promise... promise you'll come back?” he pleaded, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. “When I'm older and we can... I'll wait for you?”

“Bilbo, don't...” Bofur tried, backing away further, and he could see in the widening of Belladonna's eyes the sudden understanding that what Bilbo had wanted was a bit more than just 'adventures'.

“Twelve years...” Bilbo said, his bottom lip trembling at the time that must sound _so_ long to him, child that he was, “Twelve years, in September, in the fall, _promise_ you'll come back for me?”

“I'll try.” Bofur finally relented, extracting his hand from Bilbo's grip, “If you're still interested in adventures when you're of age, and I'm still traveling...”

Belladonna gathered her son up, pulling him away from Bofur with her eyes full of distrust, and _of course_ she would be. He bowed to her and left as quick as could.

Bofur practically threw himself into Bifur's lap, cuddling close to his cousin and laughing along with Lari and his warrior friends as they enjoyed their last night in the Great Smials.

And he very firmly told himself that he did _not_ find his mind wandering toward soft lips and the the taste of honey cakes and ale. He'd always had a weakness for kisses in the way of Men and Hobbits, but it wasn't _right_.

Bilbo was a _child,_ and in twelve years would have _long_ forgotten all about Bofur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is twenty one - the equivalent of about 13/14 in a human.  
> Bofur is just over a hundred - so a young adult.
> 
> You know me, all my favorites are going to end up together no matter what AU I make...


	2. the fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> twelve years in the fall

Bilbo Baggins bundled up warm and had a quiet smoke on the top of Bag End as he watched the sun set on the final day of fall – and he was not surprised.

Bofur never _had_ promised to come back to sweep him off on adventures.

Bilbo had been utterly heartbroken when Bofur left, certain that the Dwarf had been his one true love and he would _never_ have another.

...it seemed rather dramatic of him, in retrospect, but at the time it had consumed him. He'd cried himself to sleep over it more than once.

For a time he'd been determined to be faithful and wait for Bofur, like he'd told the Dwarf he would.

After a while that had faded into deep anger about the entire situation – at Bofur for rejecting him, at the Shire for rules that said he was not old enough when clearly he _was_ , at the fact that there were no adventures to be had. Even his Took cousins did not want to go _explore_ the way Bilbo did, and Bofur, his one chance, had _rejected_ him.

Eventually the anger faded into an overwhelming mortification at what he'd done, as he grew old enough to _realize_.

Really, delivering him to his mother and fleeing was the _kindest_ thing Bofur could have done. If he hadn't been so honorable... well, it didn't bear thinking of.

It had seemed like a _brilliant_ plan at the time, but Bilbo was _so_ embarrassed at the position he'd put Bofur in. His mother had made sure Bilbo knew he was _not_ to be making passes at older men – once she'd determined that's what had happened and not the reverse – but it wasn't until he grew older himself that he could understand _why_. He looked at the youngest tweens – bumbling laughing little things in their early twenties – and they really were _children_ still.

Twelve years was a long time, even the embarrassment faded eventually. Bilbo could look back on the entire thing a little fondly as a youthful misadventure that might have gone terribly wrong, but had not.

He hadn't waited for Bofur, of course. That would have been ridiculous. He'd had several flings with Hobbits his own age – a gentle flirtation with a miss Gardenia that had been _pleasant –_ and a secretive and scorchingly passionate affair with the cartwright's apprentice which had fizzled out when they realized they really had nothing in common other than a proclivity for partners of the same gender.

Bilbo hadn't waited for Bofur, and he didn't really expect the Dwarf to come back to sweep him off on adventures across Middle Earth. He never _had_ promised to, and why _would_ he come back for the child who'd caused him such discomfort and embarrassment?

Bilbo wrapped up warm and sat on the top of Bag End and watched the sun set on the last day of fall.

Twelve years was such a very long _time_. Bofur couldn't _really_ be as kind and funny as Bilbo remembered him. He couldn't really be _that_ handsome. He couldn't be as brave and friendly as Bilbo remembered. That one brief kiss could not have been _that_ good – with the soft tickling of a swooping mustache on his cheeks and warm rough lips that tasted of smoke sucking lightly at his, the size and strength of big hands coming to rest on his hips for just an instant before he was thrown out of the Dwarf's lap – it _could not_ have been as good as Bilbo remembered. Bilbo had built him up in his memory, he _must_ have.

Bilbo needed to let it go.

He probably wouldn't even _like_ him if he met Bofur again now. Twelve years was such a long time, and he was a much different Hobbit now than the impressionable tween he'd been.

He studied books and maps of faraway places, and he even studied a few versions of Elvish and could read them now – albeit slowly. He'd tried to find out if he could learn Dwarvish – he _was_ fairly certain they had a language of their own from what he'd experienced hanging around them during the fell winter – but there were no sources on it that he could find.

Maybe he _was_ more of a Baggins than a Took after all, with his bookishness, and he didn't think _anywhere_ could be home the way Bag End was.

Bilbo was thirty three years old, an adult now, and he hadn't _really_ expected Bofur to come sweep him away on adventures, but still he sat up on the top of Bag End and wiped a few slow tears from his eyes as the sun set on the last day of fall.

It was over. It was over now.

Twelve years in the fall, and the fall was over. No one was coming to take him on an adventure – not even Gandalf came through the Shire anymore – and Bilbo quietly unpacked the knapsack in his mind where he'd planned what to take with him for as long as he could remember.

He stayed sitting on top of Bag End until the stars were shining in the cold clear winter sky and his mother called him down.

“Oh, baby...” She crooned when she saw his expression which he must not have schooled as well as he thought, and Bilbo buried his face in Belladonna's big graying curls and let her hold him.

He was not surprised.

Bofur never _had_ promised to come back for him.


	3. the spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur returns.

The spring sunlight was bright and warm on the soft green hills of the Shire, and Bofur didn't know if he was doing the right thing.

He was actually fairly sure he wasn't.

It had been _years_ since he'd been in the Shire – not since the fell winter – and it was just as nice as he remembered. Bifur was selling toys to a whole new generation of excited fauntlings, and Bofur was looking for Bilbo Baggins.

Asking around had gotten him pointed in the direction of The Hill and Bag End at the top of it. Bofur trudged up the path and he was fairly sure he was doing the wrong thing. It was just going to be embarrassing for everyone. For all Bilbo had talked of his relatives adventures, Hobbit's _didn't_ leave the Shire. Everyone knew that. He would have grown out of his youthful obsession.

But Bofur _had_ said he would, if he was still traveling in twelve years, come by to see if Bilbo wanted adventures. Twelve years had come and gone, and here Bofur was – stopping by on his way through.

Bofur reached what _seemed_ to be the top of the hill, and there was a Hobbit sitting on a bench having a quiet smoke, eyes closed with his face tipped toward the sun.

“Good Morning!” Bofur greeted, intending to ask for directions, and the Hobbit started. He blinked up at Bofur, his smoky-blue eyes going wide and a bright red blush coloring his cheeks.

“Bofur!” he squeaked.

Oh.

He was _beautiful_.

Not in the solid, intricately-braided way of beauty among Dwarves – but _beautiful_. He was as slender as a sapling as he stood, narrow-hipped and delicate. His honey curls were darker than Bofur remembered around his pointy ears, but his eyes were just as big and begging. His lips were pink and soft, as thought they were just _begging_ for a kiss...

No.

No, he was still so _young_.

“Hello Bilbo.” Bofur said, scratching at the back of his neck a little as he glanced away. He _knew_ he shouldn't have come back to the Shire, shouldn't have come looking for Bilbo. The Hobbit might be of age now, but it still seemed like Bofur was trying to rob the cradle. It was no good. Maybe in another few decades...

“It's... been a long time?” Bofur tried, as it seemed Bilbo was momentarily speechless, his fingers wrapped around the top rail of the fence between them.

“Yes.” Bilbo agreed. “...you're late.”

“Am I?” Bofur hadn't expected that.

“I thought, last fall...” Bilbo said, blushing a little harder – and the fall _was_ when his birthday was, wasn't it?

“I don't travel much in the fall and winter – try to keep it mostly to spring and summer. The weather's better for it.” Bofur explained.

“Oh... oh, of course.” Bilbo said, looking away a bit as he continued almost too quiet to hear. “...I didn't really expect you would come back at _all_...”

“I said I would.” Bofur smiled, “I'm still traveling. Thought I'd see if you still wanted come along to see the Blue Mountains and the sea...”

“Oh.” Bilbo said, swallowing hard. His wide blue eyes darted back and forth, “Oh.” he said again. “I.. um... I don't... right _now_?” he agonized.

“No, no.” Bofur assured him, “Bifur and Lari and I are boarding over at the Green Dragon for a month, selling toys. You've got time to decide.” and it was almost comical how relieved Bilbo was. He breathed deep, squaring his lean shoulders and nodding firmly.

“I'll just, drop by the Green Dragon for dinner, then?” He suggested. “That way we can see if we get _along_...”

“Aye, that'd work.” Bofur smiled. It was a very sensible suggestion.

 

Dinner at the Green Dragon with Bilbo had been very nice. He had shown up looking absolutely _devastating_ in an embroidered white shirt with braces over it, and he'd laughed a lot at Bofur's stories and only squeaked a _little_ when Lari smacked Bifur's bottom and pulled him down onto her lap to kiss him senseless, both of their faces hidden from view beneath her huge poof of dark brown hair.

“She does that.” Bofur said dryly, offering wide-eyed Bilbo another ale, “Those two are practically married. I expect baby cousins _any year_ now.” He poked at them, only to have his hand batted away with a warning growl from Bifur and a laugh from Lari.

“Sh...she?” Bilbo whispered. “Oh...” and Bofur couldn't help but laugh at his surprise. Lari certainly didn't look like a _Hobbit_ lady – it wouldn't really be practical for a warrior to wear swishy skirts like that, fun as they looked.

Bilbo pulled him out to dance later in the evening, and Bofur _could_ still remember the Hobbit dances, even if it have been so long since he visited. He didn't remember them being so fun, though, without a gorgeous young slip of a Hobbit dancing with him, rosy-cheeked and laughing.

Bilbo left for the evening with a few friends who also lived on the Hill, supporting each other with arms around their shoulders and laughing, and Bofur found himself surrounded by Bifur and Lari.

“He's clever. Quick. He'll do alright traveling with us once he gets used to it.” Bifur decided.

“We don't know if he'll even want to go.” Bofur pointed out, but they both laughed at that as if it was funny.

“You did _good_.” Lari added with a squeeze to his shoulder, “He grew up cute.”

Bofur groaned and put his face in his hands, “He's still so _young,_ I shouldn't...” he shouldn't _want_ him, even if Lari and Bifur both tried to tell him that Bilbo _was_ old enough now. He was still so young. Bofur _shouldn't_ want him. He shouldn't dream of sparkling gray-blue eyes and a bubbly laugh, soft little lips that tasted of honey and slender hips under his palms – but those were exactly the images on the fuzzy edges of his mind he woke up in the morning, aching-hard and guilty.

 

Bilbo visited the Green Dragon frequently.

He was _different_ from the puppylike lad who'd had a crush on Bofur during the fell winter. He was confident in himself. He could be sharp-tongued when he wanted to be, and he didn't let _anyone_ talk down to him or push him around. He was clever – like Bifur said – he could read and write in the common tongue _and_ in a few kinds of Elvish. Bofur hadn't even known there _was_ more than one kind.

He _had_ grown up, but he was still so young.

He visited them at the Green Dragon frequently. They talked and laughed and ate and drank and danced together, and it was a constant fight with himself to keep his hands to himself. Bofur didn't know if Bilbo would be joining them when they left, though. They hadn't talked about it. He didn't know what he wanted. He wanted Bilbo to come with them because he was clever and fun, and he wanted Bilbo to be _with_ him because he was fun and clever and beautiful, and he wanted Bilbo to stay behind because he was so young and Bofur _shouldn't_.

Lari and Bifur were not helpful, insisting on acting as though Bilbo joining them were fact.

Bilbo did invite them to visit his home for dinner one night. Bungo was as solid and quiet as Bofur had remembered him, but Bifur and Lari managed to involve him in a conversation about toymaking – demonstrating their moving toys to his quiet delight. Belladonna was as bouncy and vibrant as ever, though her dark curls were gray now.

Bilbo helped his mother cook, and it was obvious how much they loved each other, how easily they worked together. They had each other laughing the whole time, and when they served dinner it was bountiful and delicious.

Bofur was almost sad Bombur had missed it – staying in the Blue Mountains with their Amad's folk how he did. He couldn't imagine Bilbo and Bombur wouldn't get along... but he didn't know if Bilbo were coming with them.

Bofur had been worried that Bilbo's parents wouldn't like him around their son – considering the fell winter – but when he'd mentioned that worry to Bilbo the Hobbit had just laughed.

“They know that wasn't you, it was all me.” Bilbo had blushed bright as he said it, “It was awful of me, in retrospect. I'm terribly sorry.” and with Bilbo's bright blue eyes begging up at him Bofur had rushed to reassure him.

It didn't seem like Bilbo's parents thought poorly of Bofur and Bifur and Lari. Belladonna was bright and friendly, and even Bungo had clasped Bofur's hand before he left.

“You'll take good care of my boy, out there in the world?” He asked.

“Of course.” Bofur had reassured him, and then, “If he decides to come with us.”

Bungo had sighed, looking over to where Bilbo was laughing with his mother over something.

“He's his mother's son.” He said fondly, and Bofur didn't know what that was supposed to mean.

 

Bilbo visited the Green Dragon often in the evenings, and he started to spend time with them during the day when they were selling toys too as their month in the Shire started to wind its way to a close.

Lari and Bifur had returned to the Green Dragon with the unsold toys, and Bofur was going on a walk with Bilbo. The Hobbit had hopped up on a fence, balancing on the top rung as they walked.

“So... _will_ you be coming with us?” Bofur asked, after describing what their trip to the Blue Mountains was going to be like, _“Just_ as a traveling companion, I wouldn't...” he wouldn't want Bilbo to feel like he had to be his lover to come traveling with them.

Bilbo wavered on the fence and Bofur quickly reached out to catch his hand and steady him. Bilbo threw him a breathtaking smile for it and squeezed his fingers before hopping back off the fence to sit on the top rung instead, his big blue eyes curious.

“Why just as traveling companions, though?” He asked, his cheeks going pink. “I can _see_ how you look at me sometimes, and Lari even told me you want me – and here we are, going out on walks together and everything, but you never _do_ anything.”

Bofur could feel his face turning red as he looked away from the expectant Hobbit. He could kick Lari for having _said_ that to Bilbo.

“I wouldn't want you to think you _had_ to...” He said, awkwardly, and Bilbo smiled at him.

“Haven't I made it clear enough that I _want_ to?” Bilbo asked. “I don't know how the ways of Dwarves are different, but I have been _forward_... I even brought you to see my family. My father gave his blessing!”

Was _that_ what that had been? Bofur could feel even more blood rushing to his face as he scratched at the back of his neck uncomfortably – fighting the instinct to change the subject with a joke and never ever speak of any of it again. Was Bofur the _only_ one who could see how young Bilbo was?

Bilbo hopped off the fence and began walking again, and Bofur joined him.

“You know... I had myself convinced you couldn't possibly be as handsome as I remembered you.” Bilbo said, musingly, as he plucked a flower from a bush to tuck behind his ear, “Then you showed back up, and if anything I hadn't remembered you handsome _enough_.”

Bilbo's hand found Bofur's, his slender fingers squeezing as they walked along, “You were my first kiss, you know...” he said, and that really didn't make it _better_. Bofur just _couldn't_ take advantage of Bilbo's youth and innocence. It wasn't right.

“I don't go chasing after firsts.” he said, a little gruffly. He wasn't that kind of a Dwarf, and he didn't like those who were. There was a moment of silence at his side before Bilbo began to laugh, big peals of laughter that he turned his face into Bofur's jacket sleeve to muffle.

“Is _that_ what this is about?” he asked, when he could talk again, biting his sweet pink bottom lip to keep himself from laughing and his gray-blue eyes sparkling up at Bofur.

“You're so young, I don't want to take advantage.” Bofur explained, a _little_ stung by Bilbo's laughter.

“Oh Bofur...” Bilbo smiled at him fondly, his laughter still obviously close to the surface, “I know I'm small, and I'll _never_ have a beard, but I haven't _got_ any firsts left. I'm not the little tween who had a puppy crush on you during the fell winter.”

“You've...” Bofur's mouth for once was having a hard time grabbing onto any one of his swirling thoughts to say anything coherent.

“I've had lovers.” Bilbo said, his tone wry and much more grown-up than his usual lightheartedness, “I didn't spend twelve years pining away for you, all alone...”

“Oh, that's... that's good.” Bofur managed. “I wouldn't want that for you.”

“mmm.” Bilbo agreed. He took the flower out from behind his ear and gently tucked it behind Bofur's. His fingers trailed seductively across Bofur's cheek and his slender body pressed enticingly against his. They'd stopped walking, somehow. Bofur's hands had found Bilbo's hips, holding them close, and they were small under his palms but not _so_ narrow as he'd expected them to be.

“I am _not_ innocent...” Bilbo murmured quiet, his hand now cupping Bofur's cheek as he lifted on his tiptoes, his eyes falling to Bofur's lips, “Let me show you how experienced I...” but he did not get to finish. Bofur had claimed his lips.

They were soft against his, and not _so_ small, and there was _nothing_ innocent about the way Bilbo groaned against him as the Hobbit deepened the kiss, his thigh sliding between Bofur's to grind.

 

Bilbo didn't even _try_ to be subtle, laughing as he pulled Bofur through the common room of the Green Dragon toward the private rooms. Lari whistled approvingly, but Bilbo pulled him out of the room before Bofur could even flick a dirty gesture at her in retaliation.

They tumbled through the door into Bofur's room, and he hardly had time to latch the door behind them before Bilbo had pushed him back against it and was kissing him again. He kissed hungry, relentless, arms around Bofur's neck and melting against him when Bofur took charge and kissed him back. He was warm and perfectly, _deliciously_ , squirmy in his arms.

“Oh Bofur...” Bilbo gasped when they broke for breath, eyes wide, “I want you. I want you _so much_.”

“Bilbo.” Bofur groaned in answer, pulling him back in for another kiss. He ran his fingers through the Hobbit's soft curls and kissed him like it never had to end. He never _wanted_ it to end. Bilbo was small but he _wasn't_ a child, and Bofur pushed away those last few shreds of guilt.

“I haven't got any oil or...” Bofur told him when they broke for air again, Bilbo's hands had found their way under Bofur's clothes and were exploring his skin, and Bilbo's shirt was almost fully unbuttoned – revealing hairless golden skin, so soft to the touch.

“That's fine. Don't need it.” Bilbo panted. He grabbed Bofur and shoved him toward the bed, “Sit.” he ordered, and Bofur sat.

Bilbo sank to his knees between Bofur's legs, clever little fingers making quick work of the layers of clothes between them and drawing Bofur's erection out. He wrapped his hand around it tight, moaning as he rubbed the soft hairlessness of his cheek against it. It was close to a miracle that Bofur didn't spend himself right there. He'd never considered himself _big_ , but contrasted against how small Bilbo was...

“Yes?” Bilbo asked, and all Bofur was capable of doing was nodding – his words lost in a garbled moan as Bilbo teased. He licked slowly up Bofur's erection, first one side, and then the other, and then teasing at the vein on the underside with his clever little tongue before he closed his lips over the head. His big blue eyes smiled up at Bofur and he gave a moan that sent vibrations clear through him. He could only moan in answer as Bilbo began to suck him in earnest, his eyes captivated by the sight of himself sliding into the Hobbit's mouth, so slick and warm, with Bilbo's lips stretched around him. Bilbo's hand worked him at the same time, tight and steady, and this was the _furthest_ thing from the bumblings of a novice.

“Bilbo... Bilbo _so good_...” He moaned, gently running his fingers through the Hobbit's hair, and Bilbo purred appreciatively at the affection.

His fingers brushed Bilbo's ear and the Hobbit whimpered. Bofur pulled his hand back, but Bilbo's free hand reached up to stop him, drawing his hand back to his ear and Bilbo was _blushing_ bright red. He had his mouth full of Bofur, and asking for his ear touched made him blush?

“Sensitive?” Bofur asked, tracing the soft point with his fingertips to a full-body shudder and moan and vigorous nodding that was hardly necessary considering his other reactions.

Oh that was... that was just _convenient_.

Bofur gently held Bilbo's face between his hands, sweeping his thumbs up the curves of his ears, gentle as he explored their turns and folds, and Bilbo was shuddering as he practically fucked his mouth on Bofur's erection. Bilbo gasped through his nose and moaned desperately and pressed Bofur as deep as he could in his mouth, hot and tight and messy and _so so so_ perfect.

There was no way he could have lasted, not against that.

“Bilbo, I'm...” he gasped, and the Hobbit groaned hungrily as he stroked him even faster with his hand in counterpoint to his gorgeous mouth. Bofur bit back his shout as he spent, and Bilbo sucked him through it until he couldn't _take_ any more and pushed him away to collapse back onto the bed.

“Please...” Bilbo whispered hoarsely as he crawled up onto Bofur, his smoke-blue eyes desperate, “Pleasepleaseplease, I'm so close...” He moaned as he lifted one of Bofur's hands to press against the tented front of his breeches.

Oh sweet Bilbo... Bofur pulled himself together by brute force and rolled them over, tugging Bilbo's breeches open to stroke his plump little erection as he resumed playing with the Hobbit's ear and began kissing his way down his smooth chest. He'd intended to return the favor of sucking him off, but Bilbo gave a squeak that really _should not_ have been so adorable and shook himself apart in climax in Bofur's arms.

Bofur sagged back onto the bed, content and lethargic, and Bilbo snuggled himself close and affectionate in his arms.

“ _Finally_.” Bilbo sighed, and Bofur could only agree.

 

“Ask me again.” Bilbo requested.

“Hmm?” Bofur asked, idly stroking Bilbo's soft golden skin in the lamplight. It had been a long evening. Bilbo had climaxed twice more – his recovery period was surprisingly short – and he'd coaxed another out of Bofur too. He thought he could be forgiven if his mind was a little fogged and he had no idea what Bilbo wanted him to ask. He was completely willing to ask anything Bilbo wanted him to, he just didn't know _what._

“Ask me to come with you.” Bilbo explained, and Bofur realized that they really _hadn't_ ever finished that conversation. Things had gotten – side tracked.

“Come with me.” he begged, rubbing his thumb along Bilbo's delicate collarbone, kissing his cheek and whispering soft in his ear, “Come see Middle Earth with me. Come see the the deepest jeweled caverns of the mountains, and the forests, and the sea. Be with me.”

Bilbo turned his face to kiss him, soft sweet lips and shining gray-blue eyes as he wrapped his arms around Bofur.

“I would like nothing better in the world.” He whispered back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that for this short series.  
> I hope you enjoyed it!  
> <3,  
> Ts


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